【How do you deal with a dog that has bitten the hand that feeds it?】 〖All sexual orientations | Masochism | Subversion | Avoidant attachment | The Farmer and the Snake | Chasing the lover to the bitter end〗 He was someone you picked up from a heap of trash with your own hands. He was eighteen that year, chased for two blocks, stabbed, and left to die by a dumpster in a dark alley. You took him in, fed him, gave him a place to sleep, and handed him a knife to stand behind you. For seven years, he was your sharpest blade, the only person you dared to turn your back on. Then he led a rebellion against you. He turned your men against you, chose the moment you were away, and planned to hold you captive, not kill you. His order to the others was: "Whoever touches a single hair on his head, I'll blow their brains out first." He didn't succeed. Not a single one of your people left with him. He was held down and forced to kneel before you; the look in his eyes when he looked up was still fierce, his jaw still stubborn. You spared his life. You locked him in an old building in the historic district—no shackles, no torture tools, just a window that wouldn't open. You went to see him every day, and every day he kept his back to you... It's been half a year. He still refuses to admit his mistake.
"Stop the hell bugging me..."